


Give Flight

by kaizoku



Series: Summer Pornathon 2014 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Circus, Bruises, Consensual Underage Sex, First Time, M/M, Summer Pornathon 2014, Team Gluttony, Tightrope Walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizoku/pseuds/kaizoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pays his handful of coins and sits waiting in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Summer Pornathon for Challenge 2: Trades & Professions
> 
> This entry placed second in its group - you can read it (at its original length) on the [results post](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/104901.html).

Arthur doesn't run away to the circus, nothing like that. He simply tells Uther that he is riding out with the border patrol for a fortnight. If he happens to slip away to investigate the rumours, that's his prerogative as a prince. He's fifteen, old enough to make his own decisions.

He hears the drumbeats, the haunting trill of a pipe, before he sees the glow of the lanterns strung round the tents. This is what he remembers, from before he was old enough to tell if it was real.

Uther always says there's no such thing as magic, so Arthur ignores the pattering of his heart. He's not afraid of anything, much less a shabby caravan peddling charlatan's tricks.

He pays his handful of coins and sits waiting in the dark.

~~~

First come the fools, the jugglers, and the acrobats. The famous fire-breather Edwin with his burned face, followed by a huge black beast with wings.

Arthur leans forward when the trick riders enter the ring: a man with long dark hair and a woman with lighter colouring. Their horses prance and rear, unfettered by bit or rein. Arthur applauds when the woman stands sure-footed, then, greatly daring, performs a handstand on the man's shoulders. He's never seen their like.

Last, the music rises and torches light the highest reaches of the tent. A figure, no more than a boy, climbs from the rigging and steps onto the tightrope.

He seems completely at ease, moving like a bird. He puts the acrobats to shame as he swings and cartwheels and spins on that narrow line. At one point, he slips -- Arthur gasps, but the boy catches himself, hanging by one hand, and bounces back with a flourish.

~~~

Balinor, the horse master, shakes his head.

"Not right off. Talk to my son, he'll learn you your balance."

~~~

"Blindfolded?" Arthur crosses his arms. "No way."

"You have to see the rope with your feet, not your eyes."

Merlin is standing on one foot, the other tucked against his knee. Striking a pose, Arthur thinks.

"What does that even mean?" 

"It's how I was taught." Merlin scowls at him. "If you don't want to learn--"

"Fine. Hand me your neckerchief."

Merlin hesitates, but pulls it off, revealing pale skin and sharp collarbones. His fingers are gentle as he pulls it snug.

"Too tight?" Arthur shakes his head. Doesn't trust himself to speak. Smells soap and sawdust. The light filters in a dull red.

Merlin catches his hand, peasant fingertips rubbing rough over Arthur's palm.

"If you trip me, I'll have you - I'll get you back." He's vulnerable, unsure of direction, Merlin's hand and the gradations of light his only guides.

"Step up now." Merlin taps his leg.

The heavy waxed rope abrades his bare soles. He curls his toes, gripping so hard it hurts, searching out the next foothold.

"Keep going, you're doing well."

His foot slides and the rope swings wildly. And then he's on top of Merlin, smacking hard into the mats.

Arthur curses, pushing himself up, but their legs tangle and Merlin laughs harder.

"Not bad for your first try!"

~~~

Once he's got the hang of the low rope, Merlin takes him up to the real tightrope. The skyline, he calls it. 

Arthur's breath freezes tight in his chest when he looks down.

"Ready? Jump!"

"What, are you crazy?"

"If you're scared of falling --" Arthur makes an indignant sound -- " _If_ you're scared, you won't be able to stop thinking about it until you've tried it and learned it's not so bad. You know how to tuck and roll, don't you?"

"Of course," Arthur grunts. He fell off his horse often enough as a child.

"All right, let's see it."

"Just... jump?"

"Yes!"

Arthur sets his shoulders. The net doesn't look nearly big enough from up here.

"Do you trust me, Arthur?" Merlin asks him, one hand light on his shoulder.

Arthur shrugs. He doesn't want to do this, doesn't see the reason for it, but he's here. And Merlin's here, and even if Arthur says no, he'll end up doing it anyway.

"I guess."

Merlin smiles and it's breath-taking. Arthur crosses his arms, looking away.

"Look, I'll go first. Then you. Easy."

Merlin dives like a swan. Show-off. He rolls neatly into the net, before sprawling out comfortably. He waves up at Arthur.

"Come on!"

Arthur remembers being twelve and jumping off ledges into the river. This is just the same -- pretty much the same. He takes one step, then another, until he's falling.

The air rushes around him. He lets out a whoop. It's exhilarating.

And then the net is coming up fast, and he tucks into a ball, bracing for the impact. The net catches him and bounces him up and over until he's disoriented, a laugh curling up from inside him.

Merlins scampers over like a long-legged water strider, hair tufted up on one side. There's a red rope mark on his cheek.

"Isn't it great?"

Arthur runs a hand through his own hair, grins. "It's all right."

~~~

After three days of practice on the high wire, he staggers into Merlin's waiting arms, shaking and sweating. He feels like he's just run a mile or fought in a tournament.

"That was fantastic!"

"Want to do it again?"

Arthur feels like his legs have turned to jelly. He slides down. "Give me a moment," he breathes.

Merlin slides his arms through the bars of the platform and arches out over the space. He looks like a dancer, all spare muscle. Arthur quirks an eyebrow.

"Why doesn't your father go to Camelot? He could lead the cavalry."

Merlin shrugs. "He was in the guard."

"But why--"

Merlin shushes him with a finger.

Arthur looks at him, his shining eyes so close, his mouth-- he wants to do bad things to that mouth. He leans closer and Merlin's thumb presses into his jaw. 

A noise below. The ringmaster parts the curtain for one of the acrobats. In the shadwos, Isolde wraps her arms around Tristan's neck and pulls him down. He lifts her, her skirts bunching between them as they rut together, stumbling back into a haybale.

Arthur's face heats. He glances up -- Merlin's creeping across the wire on quiet feet. When he's directly above them, Arthur realises he's holding a flask.

Isolde shrieks as the lovers are soaked.

"You're dead!" Tristan roars. Merlin dives into the net as Tristan goes for the ladder. Arthur follows Merlin's wild laughter down.

~~~

He finds Merlin in the crawl space of the prop wagon. Above them, through the boards, ancient puppets lean, a circle of grotesques, rods protuding at sinister angles. Arthur crowds in with Merlin, muffling a sneeze from the dust.

"Did you see their faces?" Merlin whispers, gleeful.

Merlin rolls over and Arthur's nose rubs his cheek. His breath hitches. All it takes is one inch more to brush their lips together. Arthur feels like he's suspended mid-air, waiting to see if he'll fall.

Then Merlin pushes into him with a groan, tongue hot and wet, one hand rucking up his shirt, the other dragging him closer. Each touch sends him nearer to the edge until Arthur has to pull away, gasping.

Merlin could be a contortionist the way he squirms around in the tight space. He knees Arthur in the hip accidentally and even that feels good, feels real. Like something he can keep.

His fingers dip into Merlin's leggings, tugging down until Merlin's cock slaps wetly against his chin. He closes his eyes and licks around the head by feel, intoxicated by the musk. Then Merlin's hand is on him, squeezing, all callous and strength, and he's done.

~~~

Arthur knows all the members of the caravan now, by name and face. He knows the inner workings of the circus, the routine underlying the colourful chaos of their performances.

He's seen behind the curtain, knows there's no hidden wires, no chicanery -- just talent and hard work and a smidge of magic.

Arthur's feet blister and grow hard and Merlin kisses him on the highwire, shamelessly rolls him in the net, takes him apart with his fingers, fucks him raw under the stars.

The day his father's soldiers come, Merlin's tied his wrists and Arthur's fucking himself open, filthy and loud.

"God, yes, Merlin, right _there_ \--"

Arthur's already come once, Merlin bending nearly in half to swallow his seed and it hurts, he's so raw and sensitised.

He doesn't try to hide. They can think what they like. The rope marks and the bruises are from Merlin one way or another.

~~~

A prince can't just run away and join the circus.

But if he sometimes creeps out over the rooftops under a new moon -- who's to stop him?


End file.
